


Carry On for Me

by Tinq



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Demons, Feels, Hurt, M/M, Sabriel - Freeform, Swearing, Temporary Death, inspired by carry on my wayward son lullaby, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:35:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1607012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinq/pseuds/Tinq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Sam's death, someone he lost long ago comes back to put him back on his feet. And Sam realizes that he's a lot more than thankful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry On for Me

Sam had been looking forward to burning some bones. It had been such a long time, it had - what with Abaddon and Crowley and more than anything Metatron controlling every movement - and, though hunting was never quite fun, both Sam and Dean enjoyed the simple things. The FBI costumes and the, “Were there any cold spots?” It was better than fighting hellhounds and watching each other get hurt and shooting off any insult they could think of.

Dean looked forward to hunting, as a whole. Being able to kick some ass, to be tough, to show the world of the supernatural that he beat Hell and all the shits that came from it. He could beat anything. Except, perhaps, the Mark of Cain. And the impulse to hunt. But lately he had only been thinking about the latter.

The Winchester brothers had arrived in the small town of Emporia, Kansas on the morning of May 8th, 2013. So far the year had been hectic and both the brothers - Sam, more than Dean - were sick of dealing with Hell. So when a unique came to them through the papers, they were eager to help out.

“M’am, did your cousin have any enemies?” Emma Delore furrowed her eyebrows, looking at Dean questionably.

“N-no. Not that… that I know of. Why do you ask? I thought it… I thought it was a break in. Has it changed?” The woman took in a breath, and Dean smiled sympathetically.

“It’s just routine, m’am. Now, has anything…. strange, per say, been going on around here?”

Mrs. Delore scrunched up her face, looking Dean up and down. “Strange? My cousin was - he was brutally killed!” Whimpering, Mrs. Delore tried to pull herself together. “Are you t-trying to say you don’t know what… happened?”

Dean grimaced. “No, ma'am. Just trying to get a hold on who did this.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, hoping Sam would come clomping down the steps soon. “So, has anything strange been going on, m’am? Anything at all?”

Mrs. Delore shook her head, getting up from the couch she sat opposite of Dean at. Dean, too, stood up, just as Sam came down the steps.

“Are you boys… all set?” Mrs. Delore didn’t catch it, but Sam slipped Dean a quiet shake of the head. No EMF then… Dean pursed his lips.

“Yes, m’am. Thank you for your time.” He turned towards the door as Sam offered the woman his condolences.

As soon as the brothers were out the door and settled in the ‘67 Impala they knew too well, Dean turned to his younger brother.

“So? No EMF, not a bit?” Dean questioned, already knowing the answer.

“Not a bit. Maybe… maybe this isn’t our thing. I mean, could technically be a monster, not a spirit, but you never know, really…”

Dean smacked the side of the car. “Son of a bitch…” He growled. He looked back at the house, spotted Mrs. Delore in the living room - passed out on the couch.

“Shit, Sam. Sam.” Dean punched his little brothers shoulder as he jumped out of the car, his hand brushing over the gun at his belt.

Sam followed suit, feeling for the gun he kept at his back, tucked into his belt. He saw the form of Mrs. Delore at the window, just high enough on the couch to see her eyes were closed and that there was blood on her forward. He followed suit as Dean kicked open the front door and-

“Shit, Sam!” Dean tried to get out the words before he was tackled from the side of the door. The black eyes of the offender were a dead giveaway - it was demons. It was a trap.

“Hey, Winchester.” It hissed - easily possessing the body of a man, with straight black hair and a face covered in stubble.. Sam rushed inside the door and attempted to pull the strong body off of Dean, who was already fighting to push it off, when yet another demon came up behind Sam and grabbed him from behind.

“Hey, Sammy boy.” It was the voice of a woman and Sam could see the brown hair flying in front of his shoulders as he was pulled backwards. “Boss told us a lot about you…”

Not knowing if the demons in question were speaking of Abaddon or Crowley, Sam had no time to question. Because, in that fraction of the second where Sam’s mind rolled the words around and his lanky body fought for balance, the demon whipped out a gun.

“Say your prayers, Sammy.” She feigned mistake. “Oops! I forgot. The angels are too busy snapping at one another’s heels to care about humans.”

In those few seconds alone, several thoughts when through Sam’s head. Dean! I’m so sorry Dean. I’m so, so, so sorry. I brought us Hell. I brought us to Hell. And I brought you there, too.

But it wasn’t just the microscopically quick apologies that rocketed through his mind as the demon brandished her gun. It wasn’t just Dean’s gravelly voice calling from the floor behind him, struggling, saying, “Sam!” It wasn’t just that but now Sam was doing something he didn’t think he’d ever do, considering the way angels acted and what they were and who they were.

 _I’m praying. Please. Someone. Take care of Dean. Please. He goes to Heaven. I-_ Sam’s prayer’s were cut short by the bullet that went flying from the demon’s gun.

The silver-molded bullet shot right through his chest, rocketing straight through him and into the stairwell behind him.

“No! Sam! Sammy! No, you bitch, you- no!” Moved by the sudden sound of a gun, Dean finally got a decent grasp on his gun and sliced the demon on top of him in the stomach. He pushed the body off of him, scared to even look at Sam, who was now groping at the stairwell, trying to stay on his feet.

As Dean advanced on the demon who had shot Sam, a million thoughts - all the same - shot through his mind like a cruel bullet. Sam.

Dean knocked the gun from the woman’s hand when her eyes turned black, and she smiled. “No matter. I’d fight a Winchester - and win - any day. And I just stopped your life source.”

Dean launched himself at the demon, grappling to cut her where it could kill. As the two enemies fought, purely driven by rage, Sam slipped down on the hardwood floor, his hand on his chest. The space before his eyes was beginning to blur and Sam grappled at consciousness tooth and nail.

 _Please. Dean… goes to Heaven. Give me worst. I…_ Sam lost the words on his tongue as thunder rolled outside. Was this what dying was really like? Before he had been stabbed in the back - literally? When he fell - literally - into Hell? Is this how normal people died? Surely not normal people. Important people - police officer’s. Not hunters. Hunters were mauled.

It was then that Sam, who was giving way to the darkness, no longer listening to Dean swiping at the second demon. He was listening to the rain outside and the thunder outside and in his ears.

As Sam finally let himself slip into the tranquility that was sleep and sunk into the oblivion, her felt something - two hands gripping his shoulders. Literally.

Sam could actually feel hands on him, and yet, somewhere off in the distance, on the top of the Grand Canyon as he fell to the bottom, Dean was still fighting a demon.

And as the grip on his shoulders intensified, he felt something wet and soft and warm and something sweet on his forehead. A kiss. There were hands on his shoulders and a kiss on his forehead.

And as Sam’s consciousness fought for information - on who was touching him - Sam’s spine tingled when there came a voice in his ear.

“It’ll be okay, kiddo. I’m watchin’ over you…” The voice slipped away and Sam came back into full reality with the force of a train.

He sat up too fast, fighting to regain his legs, not sure if Dean was still fighting or not and still debating about it when he heard Dean’s voice. “Sam? Sam. Stay with me. I thought…” He felt Dean’s hand on his chest, where he remembered feeling an immense yet distant pain.

Sam had been shot merely a minute before - he could see the blood on his hands and on his shirt. And yet, the pain was gone. Sam’s vision stopped swimming and he came to face Dean, who was staring straight into his eyes, concern etched on every piece of his face.

“Dean… I’m… fine.” Sam straightened up, taking in deep breaths and realizing his words were actually true. “Really. I’m… I’m…. fine? How….”

Sam remembered the voice in his ear and ignored Dean’s words. He could feel his heart shifting and, in that moment, as Dean clutched at his shoulders and asked Sam if he was okay, over and over again, Sam could swear he could feel the warmth of a kiss on his forehead again.

\---

The two sat in that house for an hour or two more, questioning everything that happened. Though Sam never said whose voice he had heard in his ear, nor did he mention the feeling of life on his shoulders and the feeling of - what was it? Affection? In his trembling heart.

“Dude, man. I saw you get shot. Are you sure you’re okay? Son of a bitch, if this comes back to bite us, I’m gonna…” Dean trailed off, noticing the vacant look in Sam’s eyes.

“Sammy? You okay? Dude, c’mon, you know something. I can see it - you haven’t said a word, you know something!”

Sam stirred from his dream-like state, not knowing if he should tell Dean. Deciding that he was tired and not up for lying, Sam spoke, “I know… what happened.” He took a deep breath, his eyes finally managing to focus on the rough figure that was his older brother. “I… I prayed. I was shot, Dean, so… I was, hoping and praying, all kinds of things, and, um…”

Sam licked his lips, his eyes dropping to the floor. “And I was slipping away. I was lying on the ground bleeding out too fast and all I could think to do was pray. And… it… Gabriel’s voice. I….” Here, Sam bit his lip, choosing to lie not to keep secrets but to keep it to himself. Gabriel’s message and actions were treasures Sam wanted to hold on to. For as long as he could. “And then I was okay. And… the end.” Sam finished, grimacing slightly.

Dean eyed him, but only for a second. “Gabriel?” He asked, uncertain.

Sam nodded. “Gabriel.” And in that moment, Sam locked his eyes on the floor and let Dean think. Because, in that moment, Sam’s thoughts were on a prayer. A message. One he had just thought of and wanted to send out because, what did he have to lose? His dignity? Possibly.

“Dead or alive, with or without wings, you would fly to me. Dead or alive, with or without my soul, I will carry on. For you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Supernatural headcanon I found on Tumblr:
> 
> Imagine Sam is on the floor somewhere with a bullet in his chest and he's calling out for Dean, who is fighting a demon elsewhere. As he closes his eyes, he feels a warmth in his chest and a kiss on his forehead and hears the words ‘It’ll be okay, kiddo. I’m watching over you.’ but when Sam opens his eyes, there’s no one there and the bullets gone. by imagine-supernatural-stuff


End file.
